The life lessons learned while traversing the Emerald Isle cannot be written in a single post, nor can all of the precious memories. I learned how to hold my alcohol, how to hail taxis, I began to read the Bible, fer realz, and that we don't always need a compass.
And I learned to stop trying to write my love story.
Dublin was one of the most beautiful times in my life, and the only care in the world I had at the time were train schedules and airport terminals, but I was plagued with a worrisome heart that no man would ever love me because I couldn't imagine a more beautiful scenario than the one I was in. Because I refused to give God the pen to write my love story. But I had no idea that the following chapters of my life would exceed those beautiful months of writing in my journal in St. Stephen's park watching swans, editing my book at the famous Bewley's Cafe while eating porridge and watching holiday shoppers on Grafton Street, and writing post cards to friends at home.
I've tried to write my own love story. Several times. And I would think, "Top that, God," and He does.
Christ has three answers to our prayers: “Yes, not yet, and I have something better in mind.” Womenfolk, we are once in a lifetime...when was the last time you took a risk?
Epilogue: My Heat's Testimony, Two Years Later